


Deep Waters

by huldrejenta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco trying to deal with things, Eventual Romance, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 17:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4755653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huldrejenta/pseuds/huldrejenta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back at Hogwarts, eighth year turns out to be just as miserable as Draco had suspected. Struggling with post-war apathy, he tries to find something positive he can do for himself. Like secretly learning how to swim in the Great Lake. Only things don't go as planned when Potter somehow finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep Waters

**Author's Note:**

> You left such a delicious prompt, dear birdsofshore, and I simply couldn't resist. The story turned into something a bit more angsty than you probably had in mind for this prompt, but it's nothing too heavy! I do hope you enjoy.  
> Thank you so much to the mods for bearing with me, and to twistedm for beta reading! I've made a few changes afterwards, so any remaining mistakes are all mine.
> 
> ~~~

: : :

Mother always used to tell me a story when I went to bed at night. I can’t remember many of them very clearly. She’s always had more stories inside of her than anyone else I’ve met, and I was a silly, little boy with my head full of unimportant things and little patience for the fine art of storytelling.  
  
What I do remember is Mother’s warm hands as she tucked me in. I remember her soft kiss on my forehead and the tenderness when she ran her fingers through my hair. I can recall as vividly as if it were yesterday the love in her voice when she said, “And with that, my darling boy, tonight’s story has come to an end.” I would close my eyes and rest in the safe knowledge that I’d wake up to another day full of joy.  
  
It’s been a while since I fell asleep with a content sigh. It’s been a while since I thought about the following day with any sort of enthusiasm. There was no joy to be found when I went to bed last night, and there certainly isn’t any now. I watch the people surrounding me and take in the scene that always used to mean eager anticipation and endless possibilities. It used to mean seeing my friends again. It meant telling each other exaggerated tales of summer shenanigans and plotting new strategies to win the Quidditch Cup. It meant discovering something new about Potter to make fun of.  
  
When I step aboard the Hogwarts Express this time, I’m not able to muster a single emotion. I do know, logically, that I’m lucky to go back and finish my education. I’m lucky to be free. I suppose I’m lucky to be alive. But knowing it does nothing to my state of mind. The strange numbness that’s haunted me for months is still there. Not even the odd glare sent my way or the whispers where I can vaguely hear, “Oh no, look, it’s Malfoy” and, “What’s he doing here?” evoke much more than an internal shrug.  
  
Still, even I can notice the excitement in the air, something different than the usual start-of-a-new-year buzz that I know so well. There’s that little extra glow about my fellow students and I bloody well know what it is. It’s the elation of being able to return to a normal life. It’s the relieved exhale of _it’s over_. It’s the righteous certainty of having been on the good side, the right side, the side of truth and glory and victory.  
  
I slip into the first empty compartment I can find, relieved to be surrounded by silence. When I push the door closed behind me, manoeuvre my trunk away and sink down onto the familiar seat, I’ve been subjected to a rather impressive number of smug looks and haughty comments.  
  
I don’t care what they think.  
  
As I close my eyes and lean back, though, my mind starts to wander. I’ve always been used to meeting hostility based on envy, based on centuries of prejudices and mutual distrust. I’m used to meeting hostility while feeling on top of the world, full of energy to take on a fight. How very different it is from facing hostility based on self-righteous contempt. How very different it feels when it is based on the victors looking down at the beaten ones. Or even worse: Having them pitying me.  
  
I sigh. One whole year, meeting only this.  
  
Hopefully I’ll be left alone in the compartment. I’m in no mood for Pansy’s sarcasm or Blaise’s laconic observations. Since we’re the only Slytherins from our year returning, I sincerely doubt anyone else will come in. I stretch my legs out in front of me, one ankle above the other. My feet reach further down the floor than they used to, it seems I've grown since the last time I sat here. Funny. I’ve never felt smaller in this seat than I do right now.  
  
With my eyes firmly closed, it’s the sound of the train whistle and hissing of steam that tells me we’ve started our journey towards Hogwarts. I must’ve dozed off for a minute, and when I awake with a jolt, I find myself thinking about one of Mother’s old bedtime stories. It’s one of the few she told me numerous times. She probably wanted to tell me something. Or maybe it was she who needed to hear it.  
  
_Once upon a time, a fight broke out between all the Human Emotions about which one was the most dangerous. No one could remember why they’d started arguing, but being Human, they all wanted to highlight themselves and do well in the competition.  
  
“People have done terrible things in my name,” Trust said, looking as threatening as possible. “Blind Trust makes people forget to think for themselves. The dark side of me is certainly worth a spot in the top three.”  
  
“I can make people lose sight of which battles are worth fighting,” Hope said, puffing its chest. “Because of me, people cling to the most impossible dreams, refuse to face reality, and end up wasting years chasing castles built on clouds.”  
  
“That’s nothing compared to the force I hold,” Love said in a voice that was sweet and gentle one second, but thunderous and hard the next. “Many a person has gone mad because of me, and what may seem like a force for all that’s good and decent, may soon turn to possessive despair.”  
  
Every Human Emotion got time in the limelight, all talking with great passion about why their powers were the most dangerous.  
  
As the Emotions spoke, Wisdom came walking by and was asked to be the judge. Wisdom listened with great patience to everyone’s best effort to seem dark and ominous. In the end, Fear and Hate were the remaining two fighting for victory.  
  
“Nothing can spread quite as easily among human beings as I can,” Fear said, voice shaky and cold. “When I conquer people's hearts, they make terrible decisions. They lose the ability to find solutions and help each other do good.”  
  
Finally, it was Hate’s turn to convince the audience and, most importantly, the judge. “I am the absence of even the tiniest sliver of Love. What could possibly be more dangerous than that?”  
  
Wisdom took a deep breath and gazed across the gathered crowd. “Has everyone spoken up who wishes to be heard?”  
  
The air was loaded with anticipation before the big decision, and no one said a word.  
  
Until – “I suppose I could enter the contest. Or not. Doesn’t really matter either way.” Everyone turned around to see Indifference walking towards the front of the crowd, looking mildly bored. “As long as I’m here, I might as well give it a go.”  
  
Wisdom nodded and gestured for Indifference to continue. “I’m not hot and I’m not cold. I don’t care about any cause or anyone or anything. The one joy I have is tempting the insignificant human beings to follow my lead. It’s a sight to behold when apathy gradually devours them. They tell themselves that Indifference is necessary in order to survive. They lose any interest in other people, making their problems into an abstract entity. Slowly, they end up losing an important part of their humanity.”  
  
A dark shadow fell over all the Emotions, settling around their hearts. No one doubted who would win the contest, and no one was surprised when Wisdom, after a swift deliberation, announced that Indifference was the most dangerous of them all._  
  
“Anything off the trolley, dear?” The cheery voice pulls me back to the present here and now. Apparently, the trolley lady doesn’t recall who I am. “We’ve got a whole new collection of Chocolate Frog Cards this year.” I shake my head and look out the window.  
  
I’ve never quite understood Mother’s story.  
  
I wish I had been able to hide behind a comfortable shield of indifference back then, back when I witnessed so much suffering. Back when I created suffering. It would’ve made things a lot easier. Now, when detachment has found me at last, I’m not certain I see what the danger is. I don’t hide from other people’s problems. It simply helps me to protect my own heart. Possibly not the best thing in the long run. It’s strange, being this numb. But for now, I might just need it.  
  
: : :  
  
“This whole playing invisible routine of yours is starting to get boring.”  
  
It’s Pansy. Of course it’s Pansy. For reasons I have yet to figure out, she’s always looked up to me. I’ve assumed it’s been more my position in the wizarding world than me as a person, but here she is, slung down on the side of my armchair, with a worried expression on her face. Maybe she’s still expecting me to shake it all off and resume my role as the Slytherin Crown Prince, whose glory she can bask in. Or maybe she’s offering genuine concern. I can’t say for certain.  
  
She waits twenty seconds for me to reply before impatience gets the better of her.  
  
“Draco.” She leans closer, bringing with her a scent of some flowery perfume or other, ruffling my hair. Just like she used to. “We’ve been back at Hogwarts for weeks now, and I miss you. The old you. What happened isn’t your fault, you know.”  
  
I don’t answer. Briefly, I consider telling her that I’m not consumed by guilt, that I don’t keep to myself because of self-blame or any other such tedious burden. I wonder for a second what she would say if I told her the truth – I don’t talk to people because I have nothing to say. I don’t interact with my friends because I have nothing to give. I don’t respond to the frequent taunts that are sent my way because I just don’t feel like it.  
  
In the end I can’t be bothered. I might as well let her keep believing whatever she does. Pity is never fun, but at least it gives me some peace.  
  
Pansy continues to comb through my hair with her fingers. They are soft and gentle. Feeling them gliding across my head down to my shoulders feels nice. If she would just stop expecting me to talk.  
  
And amazingly, it seems like she does. She just sits there, stroking my hair, not talking.  
  
It’s the best half hour I’ve had in quite a while.  
  
: : :  
  
Sunday afternoons I write letters to Mother. I don’t say much. I tell her, truthfully, that I work hard on my studies. I say that the classes are very interesting. And towards the end of my letters I add little observations and anecdotes to keep the focus away from everything I don’t tell her. “Filch must’ve got a cramp in his hand after writing the new and extensive list of forbidden items this year,” I write one Sunday. “Some of the seventh and eighth grade Ravenclaws are organizing quiz nights,” I tell her the next.  
  
I never mention that I don’t join them. I skip the fact that I’m not certain they’d let me even if I wanted to. I never write that the bottle of Ogden’s finest that she put in my trunk before I left the Manor, the one she told me with a wink of the eye I could share with my friends on Saturday nights, remains unopened.  
  
But she’s my Mother. I’m certain that she knows anyway.  
  
: : :  
  
I should’ve known Pansy wouldn’t let it go. She’s taken it upon herself to make sure I’m never alone.  
  
“It's fine,” I say after a group of sixth year Gryffindors goes collectively quiet when I pass them, and I don’t attempt as much as a half-hearted sneer. “It’s okay,” I tell her when my schoolbooks keep disappearing. “It doesn’t matter,” I claim when a cocky second year sticks his head in my face and demands to know what it feels like to _Crucio_ someone.  
  
I have no idea why Pansy cares. Surely, people aren’t treating her any better.  
  
“You have to stick up for yourself,” she says over the continuous Great Hall buzz. She’s poking her bangers and mash around and glares at a third year bumping into her in an attempt to get to his seat. “If you don’t, you’re letting them win.”  
  
Oh, Pansy dearest. I resist rolling my eyes at her, just barely. “It can’t have escaped your notice that they’ve already won.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”  
  
I shrug and turn back to my bangers. They seem particularly tasteless today. I eat them anyway.  
  
“I really don’t see the point, Pansy. They sit there on their high horses and have nothing to feel bad about, no worries at all. Let them be sickeningly happy and blissful, I don’t care, as long as I don’t have to be involved in any of it.”  
  
Pansy frowns. “I'm not certain it's all happiness and bliss for them either. Have you noticed some of the older students? Have you noticed Saint Potter? He doesn’t seem all that happy. You always used to notice everything about him, you probably still do.”  
  
I might have noticed a few things. So what?  
  
I’ve noticed how he’s too damned proud to talk much. I’ve noticed how he’s most unhappy with the amount of hero worshipping he’s getting. I’ve noticed how Weasley and Granger are always around him, even more than they used to, how they make certain that no one disturbs the precious Saviour. People like Potter and their enormous egos are never satisfied.  
  
I may also have noticed the vacant look in his eyes when he thinks no one is watching.  
  
I just don’t have the energy to think about what it means.  
  
: : :  
  
It’s late, but I can’t sleep. I’ve just had a most unsatisfactory wank. It took me forever to get off, and there’s no sense of relief afterwards, just this void inside of me. It keeps getting bigger.  
  
The realisation crawls into my mind, little by little. I don't like who I am anymore. What’s felt like a shield of safety, is now smothering me. When it comes down to it, this isn’t who I want to be. Getting insulted without sharp retaliation is not how Malfoys are supposed to behave, and while I couldn’t give a rat’s arse about that particular fact these days, there’s a voice in my head that insists this is not how _I_ want to be either.  
  
I’ve always been the one to react with my emotions smeared all over me – much to Father’s chagrin. Reacting, absolutely. Letting emotions control the reactions, not so much.  
  
I’m a Slytherin through and through, certainly, but unlike Pansy’s chilly assessment and Blaise’s quiet deliberation, I’ve often reacted with my gut instinct. Sometimes it’s brought me a lot of grief. But still – I miss that part of me. I miss that Draco. The one who always _felt_. I wonder if he’s still there, underneath the comfortable layers of blank indifference.  
  
It’s too damned warm in here. I’ve always loved the Slytherin dungeons, the safety they represent. The humid heat has always been easy to ignore. Now it’s suffocating me.  
  
How wonderful the fresh air in one of the tower dormitories would’ve felt against my skin tonight. Is anyone up there tossing and turning in their beds, unable to sleep? Is anyone else awake right now, dreaming about cool sheets and ice cubes gliding over soft skin as sweat is dripping down their chests?  
  
Potter is probably still awake. I bet he’s lying there in his precious Gryffindor bed, reliving his many moments of glory. Maybe he’s counting how many times today he didn’t get the proper amount of attention. Maybe he’s brooding over how people always misunderstand him.  
  
Or maybe he’s staring into the darkness. Feeling alone.  
  
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Cut the crap, will you please, Draco. This is Potter we’re talking about. He doesn’t have problems like that.  
  
And even if he did, Harry Potter is truly the least of my concerns. I have my own issues to deal with.  
  
One time I asked Mother about her story. The one where Indifference won the contest of being the most dangerous of all Human Emotions.  
  
“What does it mean?” I asked her as she brushed my cheek and gave me one of her sad little half-smiles.  
  
“You’ll understand soon enough, my darling.”  
  
My eyelids started growing heavy, but I wanted to know. “How does one change it? If it happens.”  
  
Mother smiled at me, a real smile this time. “If you want something to change, my son, then try doing something you haven’t tried before. We can’t keep doing what we’ve always done and still expect the outcome to be different.”  
  
Her words go round and round at the edge of my consciousness, in an endless circle, nudging me.  
  
_Do something you haven’t tried before._  
  
Could it really be that easy? Or that hard? What does it even mean – should I start visiting sick kids or donate all my money to the poor?  
  
But I suspect it’s a lot simpler than that. It’s about doing something new. Anything. Push myself out of my comfort zone. Force my thoughts and actions in a new direction. Set myself a goal and work until I reach it. Mastering something I haven’t before.  
  
Like learning how to swim.  
  
Huh. Where did that idea come from? I haven’t thought about it in a very long time – wishing that I could swim. Trying to hide from my friends that I couldn’t. That particular problem has been rather low on my list of worries lately.  
  
As soon as the idea has settled in my head, though, a weak sense of excitement flurries around in my stomach. Very weak, but it’s there, and I feel certain that I’m on to something.  
  
I’m going to do it.  
  
I’m going to teach myself how to swim.  
  
: : :  
  
The unseasonable warmth one doesn’t expect to find in Scotland is still very much present the following night. That suits me just fine.  
  
It’s been a hectic day, starting with double Potions. Slughorn was even more obvious than usual in his attempts to recruit Potter and his guardians, or whatever Granger and Weasley are playing at these days, to his precious Slug Club. Naturally, Potter wouldn’t stoop to such levels of mingling with the commoners – one of the few actions of Potter’s I can empathize with. Slughorn, however, was not amused.  
  
“Very well, very well,” he said, leaning over Potter’s shoulder to inspect his cauldron. “Your mother was never one to be easily persuaded either,” and then, with a jovial slap on Potter’s arm: “I’m certain you’ll find back to your astonishing Potions talent again soon enough, now that this whole unpleasantness of last year is behind us. Not to worry.” Potter actually looked a little worried, with Slughorn hanging all over him. If it hadn’t been Potter, I might’ve felt a little sorry for the bugger.  
  
I wasn’t included in Slughorn’s invitation, of course. Totally fine with me. Even if chopping my daisy roots would’ve been a lot easier if I could’ve done it without all-knowing snickering and poorly hidden gloating from my fellow students. As if I used to be invited before.  
  
Potions doesn’t bother me much, though. Far worse is Defence, where the new Professor insists on mixing us in an endless variety of groups for duelling. I can’t say who felt worse, me or Finnigan, when we were paired up today.  
  
When my long awaited free period arrived, I was in no mood for talking to McGonagall of all people. Seemingly out of the blue, she stood there in the corridor, looking more strict and stern than ever with her tight bun and square spectacles.  
  
“Do you have a moment, Mr Malfoy?”  
  
I may not always have been McGonagall’s biggest fan. But refusing her request was not an option. “Of course, Headmistress.”  
  
She nodded and gestured for me to follow. It was very strange to step onto the moving staircases, be escorted past the gargoyle before entering her office. I kept my eyes down. Burning looks of headmasters of the past weren’t easy to ignore. The sudden wave of nausea that fell over me was most unwelcome.  
  
“How are you holding up, Mr Malfoy?”  
  
This was not what I’d expected. “I’m doing fine, Headmistress.”  
  
She sat down behind her desk and waited. Seconds passed, but eventually I lifted my head and met her eyes.  
  
“I understand if coming back here to finish your education was a difficult decision to make. I may not be the easiest person for you to confide in. But I am the Headmistress for all students at Hogwarts, Mr Malfoy, and that’s a responsibility I don’t take lightly.” She paused and glanced up at the portrait that I knew was there. “Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it. That includes you, Mr Malfoy.”  
  
Her words made me feel softer inside than was comfortable. I had to fight to keep the softness away from my voice as I replied. “Thank you, Headmistress. I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
Of course I had no intention of doing any such thing, but she let me go with a gracious nod.  
  
The day didn’t get any less stressful when Blaise started asking questions. Well, he never asks them as such, that’s not how he operates.  
  
He means well, most of the time, he really does. Not everyone sees that. It’s easy to dismiss his lofty way of talking as stuck-up and standoffish. I know him better. He might be stuck-up and standoffish, certainly, but he’s other things as well. He says “I wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with that Ravenclaw quiz night bunch,” and he’s really saying “Don’t worry about if they’d welcome you or not, they’re probably as dull as Professor Binns anyway.”  
  
But today I don’t have any patience for it. I have somewhere to be.  
  
: : :  
  
I have no idea why I’m afraid of the water. I have never been in danger of drowning. To the best of my recollection, no one has ever tried to force me into the sea against my will. Father might’ve pushed me whenever he felt it necessary, but apparently being a good swimmer is not on the list of required skills for a worthy Malfoy heir.  
  
Regardless of why, I’ve avoided the sea whenever I could.  
  
Now, the time has come.  
  
I wait until it’s late enough for students to be back in their common rooms, but not quite late enough for them to be in bed. I don’t need the hassle of sneaking back in after curfew. The rules might not be as strict for the eighth years as the rest of the students, but somehow Filch must’ve gone conveniently deaf when that message was delivered. I have no desire having to explain to him why I’m lurking around in the darkness.  
  
It’s quiet when I reach the lake. Peaceful, I suppose one could call it. I find a secluded spot behind a cluster of trees and try to relax. The air is still warm for late September, and it’s not as dark as I’d expected. Heavy clouds from the afternoon have now moved elsewhere, letting soft moonlight light up the evening. I close my eyes, let my head fall back and take a long, deep breath. It feels good.  
  
Okay, then. Here we go. No need to make a big deal out of this. It’s not like anyone’s watching. I’m simply going to teach myself how to swim. How hard can it be? I’m simply about to do something that’s just for me. I’m simply going to prove that the Dark Lord hasn’t stolen all my initiative and self-worth. I’m simply trying to shake off some of my apathy.  
  
Clearly, action is a much better strategy than allowing my thoughts to flow freely.  
  
I step out of my shoes and remove my socks, fold them neatly and place them on the ground. The grass is soft beneath my feet and already a little moist. Fresh. I reach for my belt buckle, open it and pull my trousers down. It’s a movement I’ve made hundreds, probably thousands of times. Still, doing it out here, in the outdoors, in a public place where someone in theory could come by any second, feels very different. I don’t know. Naughty. Sweet Merlin. _Naughty_ isn’t a word I’ve used to describe anything about myself in a very long time. At least not in the light hearted, frivolous sense of the word.  
  
All traces of amusement vanish as I lift my eyes and take in the black surface in front of me. I’ve never quite realised before just how big the lake is. How dark. How scary.  
  
I’m this close to rolling my eyes at myself. Here I am, standing in my briefs and my shirt, already afraid before I’ve so much as dipped a toe into the water.  
  
Pathetic, Draco.  
  
Quickly, before I’m able to change my mind, I unbutton my shirt and let the soft fabric fall down my shoulders. Of course I’ve forgotten to open my cufflinks. I fumble to open them before I’m left in nothing but my briefs.  
  
They will definitely stay on.  
  
Finally, I run out of ways to procrastinate.  
  
Trying to ignore the ridiculously fast heartbeat drumming in my ears, I take a few steps closer to the shore. Pale moonlight reflects in the black sea, creating a glittery stripe on the smooth-looking surface. It’s beautiful, I suppose, but I’m in no mood to admire nature.  
  
Slowly, I lift one foot and let it land a few inches into the water.  
  
“Fuck!”  
  
My foot is up again in a heartbeat. It’s bloody freezing out there. The air may be warm and welcoming, but the Great Lake tells me in no uncertain terms that this is still Scotland preparing for autumn. I consider casting a Warming Charm, but decide against it with a thought back to the hot, humid dungeons. A little chilliness won’t hurt me.  
  
Once again, I take one small step into the water. This time I’m prepared and only wince slightly when the cold surrounds my foot. One shaky breath, and my other foot is in the water. A gasp escapes me, but after a few seconds it no longer feels like icy needles against my skin. The needles have numbed to a dull ache.  
  
One good thing about the cold is that it takes focus away from panicking. I walk slowly, short step by short step on the slightly muddy ground. Before I know it, the water reaches my knees, then inches up my thighs.  
  
It’s the deepest I’ve ever been in water that isn’t the prefects’ bathroom or a tub at the Manor.  
  
When I turn back, with clattering teeth and goose-bumps everywhere, a warm prickling of something I haven’t felt in a while tickles my spine. It feels like accomplishment.  
  
As quickly as I can with my frozen fingers, I get dressed and turn back to the castle.  
  
I sleep very well that night.  
  
: : :  
  
The following evening I opt for the Warming Charm as soon as I step out of my clothes. Minus the briefs. The briefs stay on.  
  
Stepping into the water is marginally less terrifying tonight, even without the numbing cold to distract me. I suppose I can count that as a small victory.  
  
The water reaches my hips before panic starts knocking and I walk back.  
  
This whole experience isn’t quite as horrible as I might’ve expected in darker moments. I’ve been way deeper into the lake than ever before. My main goal, though, swimming, is still a distant dream. There’s no way I’m going to lay down in that black, bottomless void without something to hold me up. No way.  
  
Yet, if I want to succeed, that’s exactly what I have to do. I’m alone in this. I don’t want any help. And even if I did, I can’t think of anyone I’d want to ask.  
  
: : :  
  
“Oh. Sorry!”  
  
I turn around and almost knock my cauldron over when I see who’s talking to me. Potter and I haven’t said one word to each other for Merlin knows how long. Now, out of the blue, he’s standing beside my desk with a rueful expression on his face, apparently apologizing for something.  
  
I’ve never understood Potter. Gryffindorish saviours have a very different way of looking at the world than disgraced Slytherins, and right now I have literally no idea what he means. My confusion must be obvious enough for even Potter to notice.  
  
“Your shrivelfigs. I bumped into them. I didn’t mean to. Sorry.”  
  
When I inspect the shrivelfigs on my desk, ready to be chopped, I notice them lying strewn around a little more messily then they did before. Hardly noticeable. It can’t have been much of a bump.  
  
“That’s okay.” Potter nods and continues towards Slughorn’s desk to pick up his own shrivelfigs. His eyes linger on me a little longer that strictly necessary on his way back. He catches me watching and looks away.  
  
What was that about?  
  
Beside me, Pansy hums. She clears her throat and follows Potter with narrowed eyes. It seems I’m not the only one wondering what just happened. I’m not convinced that I like her interest in this. Not at all.  
  
: : :  
  
The next few evenings I’m stuck in the common room. For obvious reasons, I don’t use the one they’ve turned into a temporary common room for all the eighth years, preferring instead to keep to the dungeons.  
  
Pansy must’ve recruited Blaise and decided they are to keep me company at all times. I don’t want any questions and go along with it. Besides, it’s actually quite nice to spend time with them, the three of us hanging out. It’s been too long.  
  
“We knew you’d come crawling back to us sooner or later,” says Blaise. “As if I’d ever crawl anywhere,” I say. Pansy studies her manicure, and it almost feels like old times.  
  
After three evenings of layered conversation and longwinded games of Chess, however, restless energy starts humming through my veins. I wish to continue my little project. I want to actually finish what I’ve started.  
  
There’s a cold breeze in the air tonight as I reach the Great Lake, a whiff of something crisper than the previous evenings. I cast a quick Warming Charm before I even think of undressing.  
  
Being here is starting to feel more familiar to me. The black water lies there as a... not a friend, definitely not. That would be stretching it way too far. But it doesn’t look like an angry enemy anymore.  
  
I undress quickly. The awkwardness from the previous nights is still there, but the force of it has lessened. Soon I’m standing in my briefs once more. I stop and take a few minutes to breathe. To focus on just being out here. Being a part of life. It’s surprisingly nice.  
  
On impulse, I remove my briefs as well. I suppress a sudden urge to giggle at my own silliness, standing there in the nude.  
  
My steps into the water are faster and more decisive than before. It’s still not exactly fun. But the ground beneath my feet is solid, if a little muddy, the cold isn’t bothering me with the Warming Charm in place, and it doesn’t take very long before I find myself with water covering my legs, my hips, my stomach. I’ve got water reaching my chest, and I’m still in one piece.  
  
Breathe in. One-two-three-four. Breathe out. One-two-three-four.  
  
So far, so good. I suppose it’s time.  
  
Gathering every ounce of my determination, I lie forward in the water and try to imitate the arm movements I’ve seen others do.  
  
Immediately, I lose my footing. My legs float uselessly up towards the surface. Sweet Merlin. What am I doing? As my head sinks down below the surface, panic is no longer hiding in the corners of my mind. It possesses me. It’s everywhere. I want to scream, but I can’t. No, no, no, I can’t see, I can’t breathe. Where’s the ground, where can I put my feet, swallowing water is not good, everything is so dark, and no, no, no. I can’t breathe. I. Can’t. Breathe.  
  
Something is happening. Someone grabs me. Someone pulls me up. Someone wraps strong arms around me and helps me to the shore. Someone holds me as I cough up water and slowly find my breathing. Someone is there beside me until I realise I’m safe.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
I know that voice. Harry Potter. It takes a few seconds, but the realisation of what’s happened is slowly falling into place. Potter is the one who pulled me out of the water. Of course he is. Who else is always around to watch me whenever I make a spectacular fool of myself? Who else is there to witness me at every fucking low point of my life, always, _always,_ in the role of the superior? It’s a tried and true pattern, so I really shouldn’t be surprised to find myself butt naked and soaking wet, coughing and spitting, once again saved by the Hero.  
  
Quickly, I roll over to my stomach. Now that my panic has subsided, anger and embarrassment come flooding in its wake.  
  
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Potter?”  
  
He leans back, trying to meet my eyes. “Pulling you out of the water, it would seem.”  
  
Like me, he’s dripping wet. His hair lies flat against his head. I didn’t even know that was possible. His glasses are slightly askew and his clothes cling to him like glue. He looks at me with an expression that I can’t interpret – exasperation, maybe a hint of amusement, and... worry? Surely it can’t be.  
  
“What the fuck were you doing down here, Potter? At this hour?”  
  
Potter finds his wand and casts a Hot-Air Charm over us both. His magic wraps around me like a blanket, it’s soft, smooth, comforting. I shake it off. Turning my back to him, I focus on getting dressed in a hurry. If he’s gawking at me, I have no wish to see it.  
  
“Er.” There’s an uncharacteristic air of hesitation over him. “I saw you down here. I mean, a few nights ago. It made me curious.”  
  
Oh, this is just the limit. “Are you following me?” I splutter, hardly believing my ears. “Again, I might add?”  
  
“Good thing I was, now, Malfoy, seeing as you were about to drown in three feet of water when left to your own devices.” He’s angry now. Good. He certainly isn’t the only one.  
  
“Merlin, Potter, could you possibly be any more of an imbecile? Yes, you came to the rescue once again. You probably pull dozens of people’s arses out of trouble before breakfast and we’re all so very grateful. But you hardly knew I’d be needing help when you decided to stalk me, did you?”  
  
“I wasn’t stalking you!” His face looks thunderous, his fists are clenched at his sides. “Christ, someone has an awfully high opinion of themselves. I was just curious when I saw you sneaking around. Who knew what you were up to?”  
  
It’s my turn to see red. “So that’s why you didn’t stop following me after revealing that my diabolical plan was to wade around in the water?” My blood boils, and sweet Salazar and his twisted beard, it’s fantastic to feel this angry again.  
  
Potter rubs his eyes underneath those glasses of his, sighing. He seems to be quickly deflating. I’m oddly disappointed. “You’re right.” How bloody typical that when Potter utters those words, for the first and most likely last time, there are no one else around to hear it. “I had no business following you down here.” He looks up at me, unguarded, and I’m deflating a bit myself. Have his eyes always been this intense? “But considering what happened just now, I’m very glad that I did.”  
  
So am I, obviously. I’m not about to tell Potter that. He’s smug enough as it is.  
  
“What happened?” He gestures vaguely with one hand, which does very little to clarify what he’s talking about. “I mean, why did you go down here? Into the lake?”  
  
Oh, that. “It’s not important.”  
  
He bites his bottom lip and makes those unintelligible hand gestures again. “I think it is.”  
  
I consider for a moment to walk away and stride back up to the castle. Bloody snoop. Might be a bit rude, though, considering how he just saved my life and all. “I was trying to teach myself how to swim.”  
  
Potter frowns. “You can’t swim?”  
  
For goodness’ sake. “Yes, Potter, I’m a world class swimmer, I just get a kick out of almost drowning myself in the Great Lake when it’s a particularly dull night in the common room.”  
  
He’s not to be deterred. “What I meant to ask was how come you can’t swim? And why would you try and learn by yourself? It’s a lot easier when someone is there to show you.”  
  
He really isn’t about to let this go. I sigh, suddenly feeling very tired. It can’t hurt to tell him. Probably. “It felt like something I needed to do on my own.” I find myself mirroring Potter’s hand waving and immediately make myself stop. “To change things.”  
  
“What things?”  
  
“My sunny and positive and cheerful persona, Potter, what do you think?”  
  
He waits.  
  
“I just wanted to do something different. I wanted to, I don’t know, to prove a point.”  
  
Potter looks at me. The night is soon at its darkest, it’s even foggier now, and his face is hidden in shadow. “What point?”  
  
Goodness. What will it take to get him to shut up about this? He’s such a berk, prying and asking questions and being actually quite nice, and so I snap. “That I still care about things!”  
  
“You wanted to teach yourself how to swim to prove that you still care about things?”  
  
Well, when he puts it like that... I find myself slumping forwards, bowing my head. “I know it’s stupid. It’s from this story, and I...” I don’t know anymore.  
  
“It’s not stupid, Malfoy. I’ve heard you say plenty of stuff that’s way more foolish than that.” He grins. “Probably most of the things I’ve heard you say have been way more foolish than that.”  
  
Silence settles between us as we turn towards the misty lake. A soft drizzle starts to fall, making us wet again. The whole thing is surprisingly, well, not comfortable, not at all. But not horribly uncomfortable either, considering the bizarre situation.  
  
“I can teach you. You know. If you’d like.”  
  
”You?” I must’ve misheard him. “You’re going to teach me how to swim?”  
  
“I could. I’m a good swimmer.”  
  
Of course he is. “And you and I have always made such a fabulous team, haven’t we?”  
  
“Who knows, maybe we could? I just thought that... Now that I know about this anyway...”  
  
“...this was never your secret to find out, Potter! Merlin, do you think that just because you’re the golden boy of the wizarding world that you’re entitled to prying into my private life?”  
  
“...I might as well give you a hand. It was just an idea. You don’t have to.”  
  
Indeed I don’t.  
  
This is... I don’t know. Humiliating. Caught in the act while doing something that was just meant for _me_. And of course it’s Potter who ended up finding out. He does after all seem to have a well developed radar for when I’m about hit rock bottom. Literally, in this case. A part of me wants to turn my back on him, to stuff his offer right back into his big mouth, and walk away without giving him a second glance. It would probably be the first time anyone did that to him.  
  
And yet. In some strange way, it does make sense. Not the part where Potter and I cooperate about anything, obviously. But regardless of how he found out, he does know about it now. He can swim. He’s willing to teach me, for whatever reason. Probably so he can use it against me later some way or another, but I can take that. And more importantly, doing this by myself is harder than I had envisioned.  
  
Me and Potter. That would definitely be doing something new and different, which was kind of the point anyway.  
  
“Okay.” I say it without looking at him, without meeting his ridiculously green eyes.  
  
This is where I should’ve said ‘thank you’, I suppose. For wanting to teach me. For pulling me up from the water. Even if I could’ve just put my feet down by myself and found the ground beneath them on my own.  
  
A smile seems to be hiding in the crook of his mouth. “Okay.” He clears his throat. “Good. Tomorrow?”  
  
I nod. Goodness, how did this suddenly happen? Apparently I’ve agreed to be taught by Potter. Apparently we’ll be spending time together in the lake. He’ll be close to me, touching me. This is a terrible idea. And where can I get me some swimming trunks?  
  
We head back to the castle, lost in thoughts and without saying one word. Just as we’re about to head our separate ways, Potter stops.  
  
“Hey, Malfoy.” The small smile from before is replaced by a grin I’d almost call wicked. Who knew Potter had it in him? “Nice arse you’ve got, by the way.”  
  
Huh. I did not see that coming. This has been an evening full of surprises. I’m not sure yet if it’s the good kind or not.  
  
: : :  
  
So, Harry Potter is going to teach me how to swim.  
  
Ridiculous. Isn’t it?  
  
He’s already standing there by the lake when I arrive. Looking a little fidgety, a bit more jittery than usual, maybe, but efficient and to the point.  
  
“I brought an extra pair of swimming trunks.” I assume he’s referring to what seems like a minimal amount of black fabric, lying neatly on a nearby rock. “Unless you prefer skinny dipping again. In that case, I won’t stop you.”  
  
For a moment there, I could’ve sworn Potter is flirting with me.  
  
But of course he isn’t. I know better than that.  
  
Soft waves of his magic settle around me, nudging at the edge of my awareness. Once again, the force of his Warming Charm catches me off guard. I’m not sure if I like it.  
  
Potter has kept his summer tan. It suits him. All in all, he looks surprisingly fit. Not overly muscular, but strong.  
  
The night is clear and star strewn, and I’m even paler than usual in the moonlight. Practically luminous. I might’ve grown an inch or two this last year, but I’m way too thin, all angular hips and bony knees.  
  
He’s sort of skinny, but in the lean, slender way that comes from working out. I’m just skinny.  
  
Typical.  
  
He’s obviously decided that a firm, friendly, no-nonsense attitude is the best way to go. “We need to get you to the point where you feel safe and relaxed in the water,” he says, taking a few steps into the lake. “You’ll never be a good swimmer if you’re afraid.”  
  
It makes sense. And I try, I really do. Mostly, though, I have enough difficulties trying to feel safe with Potter. I’m not worried he’ll give this project anything but his very best. It seems he never does. Even so, years of mutual distrust aren’t instantly erased just because we’ve spent some time together without jumping down each other’s throats. I’m not certain I have it in me to trust this fragile truce between us.  
  
But hey. We’re here now. Might as well give it a go.  
  
Potter turns around and gestures for me to follow. He looks confident and handsome. I’ve always found him handsome on some level, I suppose, but never more than right now, standing there with water covering his legs, waiting for me.  
  
“The trick is to keep breathing,” he says. “It’s always about the little things, you know.”  
  
I walk towards him, staggering slightly when I come across some pebbles at the bottom of the lake. Potter bends his legs and lets himself sink down into the black water. Before long, all that’s visible of him is his head and shoulders and the upper part of his arms. “Come on, Malfoy. This feels good. You try it now, just remember to breathe.”  
  
Slowly, I crouch down and try to relax as water covers more and more of my body. Potter is very close and he nods for me to continue. “Keep breathing.”  
  
He’s moving about in the water, filling the short distance between us until he’s right behind me. “If you feel uncomfortable at any point, tell me.” His voice is very close to my ear. “I want you to lean back against me, against my arms. I’m holding you all the time, like this, below your arms and shoulders. Now stretch your legs out in front of you.”  
  
I do as I’m told. Potter is true to his words, holding me as I lean back and stretch out my legs. My head is resting against his shoulder, warm breath brushes against my cheek, and slowly, very slowly, my legs float towards the surface until my toes appear above the water. “Relax,” Potter says, and I do. “Let the water carry you. Just keep breathing and watch the stars above us.”  
  
I’m not certain how long we stay like this. Time and space is irrelevant, the world is narrowed down to Potter’s arms, an endless, starry sky and the sensation of floating in the water. I could stay like this forever.  
  
Afterwards, when we’re back on the shore, dry and dressed and ready to go back, I turn towards him. “Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. I can hardly remember the last time I said those words and actually meant them.  
  
: : :  
  
The next time we meet, a few days later, Potter is waiting for me again when I arrive. There’s no repeat of what happened the last time, when he held me in his arms until time disappeared. But it’s still nice. Potter seems to know what he’s doing, and most surprising of all, we manage to have fun. Who would’ve guessed?  
  
: : :  
  
I have no idea how this started. Potter is sneaking into my dreams.  
  
Night time dreams are easy enough to handle. I can dismiss them as my messed up mind making chaos of things, mixing them together and apparently ending up with naked Potter. Waking up with messy sheets and a sticky stomach, knowing that my subconscious has chosen Harry Potter as suitable wanking material, is not ideal. But it’s possible to shake the whole thing off when the harsh light of a new day pushes the dreams aside. They do follow me around to some extent, certainly, nudging my mind whenever I’ve forgotten about them for minutes at a time. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, I’ve had plenty of dreams far worse than these.  
  
Potter somehow creeping into my daydreams is a lot worse. I find myself glancing over to the Gryffindor table during breakfast, watching him talk to Weasley and Granger. Sometimes Longbottom or Thomas joins them. Potter is fond of the bacon rolls. He’s had them three mornings in a row, and he always cuts them in half before he starts eating. Goodness. How would it feel to be underneath those fingers? Would he be gentle and slow when he lets them glide across my back? Or would he explore the nape of my neck with hurried eagerness? He’s got long fingers, thick yet elegant. I forget to swallow.  
  
A not particularly discreet cough from Blaise brings me back to my breakfast, inwardly cringing for being so careless. “Problems?” Blaise asks. I shrug and say nothing.  
  
It doesn’t stop there. I watch him during Transfiguration. My eyes are drawn to him during Potions. But Defence is by far the worst. “Duel day again,” the Professor says and divides us into pairs. We take turns and watch each other on the floor. Potter is first today, he often is, somehow. “Ready?” says Patil. Potter nods and within seconds they’ve begun.  
  
“Bloody show off.” Pansy’s voice is just a whisper in my ear as Potter swirls around, dodging Patil’s decidedly strong Stunning Spell with a flick of his wand. Maybe he is showing off. I don’t care. I can’t tear my eyes away from Potter’s graceful body as he moves around the floor. The shape of his muscles is visible even through the loose t-shirt he insists on wearing. I know the strength hidden in those muscles. I’ve felt those arms around me. A few minutes into the dance, because what he and Patil are doing can’t be described as anything but a dance, tiny drops of sweat are running down Potter’s forehead. Black hair is clinging to his skin.  
  
Underneath that t-shirt, worn and sweaty and unflattering though it may be, is a landscape that I desperately wish to explore. I know there’s a tempting hallow below his collarbone and an oddly shaped scar on his chest. I know he’s got strong shoulders and narrow hips, and I know there’s a pattern of black hair beneath his navel, disappearing into his trousers. Potter turns sharply, pointing his wand at Patil, but he uses it only when he finds it necessary. He smiles. “Come on!” he says, “Come on!”  
  
How would this man feel underneath my fingers? Is his hair as soft as it looks? I close my eyes for a second, wondering how the mix of salty sweat and soft skin would feel against my tongue. Are his nipples sensitive? Does he enjoy being tickled on the insides of his thighs? Sweet Merlin, I’m starting to feel lightheaded. I wonder how the jut of his hipbone would fit into the palm of my hand. I want to learn the sounds he makes when arousal builds in the pit of his stomach. What does he look like when he takes off his swimming trunks and all that’s left is wet skin and rousing need? I want to know what his pubic hair smells like after he’s come.  
  
“Have you fallen onto another planet, Mr Malfoy?”  
  
A couple of seconds pass before I realise that the voice isn’t referring to my fantasies. Another couple of seconds before I get that the voice belongs to the Professor.  
  
It’s my turn to duel. I have no idea how many times she’s asked me to join Pansy on the floor. Judging by the widespread giggling into hands around the classroom and Blaise’s all-knowing expression, it’s been quite a few.  
  
As I hurry onto the floor, I do wonder. Am I falling onto another planet? Am I actually falling for Potter?  
  
I’m increasingly worried that the answer might be yes.  
  
: : :  
  
Potter is late. He’s never late. He’s always been by the lake, waiting, ready to get started, when I show up. We might not have done this often enough for a set pattern to emerge, but somehow that’s what I expect.  
  
Immediately I bristle with a flash of annoyance. Then, when twenty minutes come and go without any sign of Potter, I find myself starting to worry. He probably doesn’t want to do this anymore. Surely, saviours of the wizarding world can find more tantalizing ways to spend his evening than teaching ex-Death Eaters how to swim. Granted, it might hold some vague amusement at first. Now it seems that time is up.  
  
“Sorry I’m late!” Potter comes running down the familiar path in long strides, running towards me. It’s colder tonight, and low clouds float above the lake, like soft dots of cotton. Potter looks like enthusiasm personified, and I’m ridiculously relieved that he’s here. I hate it. I hate that he’s got this power over me. I hate that he’s probably able to tell.  
  
“I meant to come earlier, but Ron started asking if I wanted to play Exploding Snap and I couldn’t get away.” He stops to catch his breath, adjusting his glasses. “I think he’s getting a bit suspicious about why I’ve been gone so much lately.”  
  
Right. “Of course you wouldn’t want your Gryffindor friends to know you’ve been spending time with me.” The words are out of my mouth before my brain has been consulted even a little bit.  
  
“I’m not ashamed.” Potter's voice is as sincere as ever. “I suppose I didn’t think you’d want me to tell.” Maybe I wouldn’t, but that’s hardly the point. “Look at me, Malfoy. I’m not afraid of Ron or Hermione or anyone else finding out about us spending time together. If people care about me at all, they’ll just be happy that I get to do something I enjoy.”  
  
I resist telling him what I honestly think, that he’s got a most naïve view of how the world works. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m drowning in that other thing he said. The thing where he more than implied he enjoys spending time with me. I bend down to loosen my shoes, worried about what my eyes might reveal.  
  
“It’s fine,” I say. Now that he’s here, it really is. “Let’s get started, shall we?”  
  
The Warming Charm is indispensable now that October has taken over. I lean into Potter’s magic and silently undress.  
  
“You’re floating so well in the water now.” Potter holds me in a steady grip as I lie on my stomach, arms stretched out in front of me. “I think you’re ready.”  
  
“Ready?” I swallow some water in my trepidation. “Ready for what?”  
  
“Ready to swim.” His reply is firm and concise. “I know you can do it, Malfoy.”  
  
I most certainly don’t know any such thing. “You think so?”  
  
“Yes.” It’s difficult to articulate my very real objections when he’s like that. Confident, strong. Disturbingly alluring. “I’m hardly keeping you up anymore, it’s basically you floating by yourself anyway.” He loosens his grip around my waist just a tad. Convulsively, I fasten my grip around his arm. Then, like an answer he’s waited long to give, he steps an inch closer. He leans down, a lock of his hair tickling my chin. His breath is warm against my cheek as his voice sinks into a whisper. “I’m right beside you, Malfoy. I have faith in you. It’ll be fine. Trust me.”  
  
_Trust me._ Potter asks me to trust him. I haven’t trusted anyone besides Mother in Merlin knows how long, and I’m amazed to find that maybe I actually do trust Potter. He’s standing there with his candour and his honesty, water reaching above his waist, telling me he’ll be right there beside me. And I believe him.  
  
Shakily, I let go of his arm, lift my feet and try to remember the movements Potter’s shown me. Forwards with my arms, move them in a wide half circle, then towards my chest, while keeping my fingers together. Repeat. I have no idea what kind of movement my legs make, but whatever they’re doing it can’t be all wrong. I’m still floating. Potter is close, like he promised, but he doesn’t touch me. It’s all me, and I’m swimming. The water moves aside as my body glides through the black lake. It’s fantastic. And it lasts all of five seconds before I start swallowing water.  
  
Immediately, Potter is there as I find my footing. He’s beaming, looking brilliantly delighted. If the wonderful buzz that’s dancing around somewhere in my chest reaches my face, I suspect that my own expression mirrors his.  
  
“I did it, Potter! I actually did it!”  
  
He laughs and steps even closer. “You certainly did. From here on out it’s all a breeze. You’ve cracked the code now.”  
  
The long forgotten thrill of pride flows through my veins as I nod at him. Before I can stop myself I’ve pulled Potter into a hug. An awkward hug, maybe, but it’s one full of enthusiasm and newfound joy. We’re standing there with water to our waists, dark clouds drifting above us and the faint sound of gentle winds tickling our ears. Potter’s arms wrap around my shoulders, his cheek is brushing mine. Traces of his faint stubble soothe and excite me. Soon I step back, hoping he wasn't able to tell the sudden leap of my heartbeat.  
  
Thanks to the Warming Charm I’m not cold as we walk back towards the shore. But Potter keeps looking at me. It’s a look that makes me feel naked. Exposed. I hurry back.  
  
The second I feel humid grass beneath my feet, I retrieve my trousers and pull out my wand. This time I wish for _my_ magic to settle around _him_ for a change, frail though as the sensation might be compared to what his magic does to me. But Potter’s eyes widen slightly when I cast the Hot-Air Charm. My magic wraps around him as if it belongs there. I can see it in his face.  
  
Such silly notions. Silly notions of hidden depths within our souls, reaching for each other. Stop being so bloody melodramatic. His magic isn’t compatible to mine. My magic can’t recognize his. These are just silly notions that aren’t described in any textbook I’ve ever read.  
  
And yet – that’s exactly how it feels.  
  
I don’t know how long we stay there, locking each other’s gaze. A few seconds, an hour, I have no idea.  
  
Potter breaks the tension first. He takes a step closer, not once looking away from me. I’m drowning in those eyes.  
  
“Draco.” His voice dips into a whisper as he speaks my given name. _Draco._ The sound of it fills my entire world.  
  
He stands close enough for our bodies to almost touch. The virtually non-existent distance between us is loaded with thousands of promises. It scares me. I have no wish for him to free my heart, only to tear it apart when the thrill of seducing the Death Eater is gone. Leaning into Potter’s hot breath, I realise that it’s too late for me to turn around. He’s already found his way behind my shield.  
  
His face is half hidden in the shadows, but the last remnants of daylight show me the subtle changes in his expression as he tilts his head, lets his eyelids grow heavy and breathes against my mouth. When he leans in and covers my lips with his, he does it slowly, excruciatingly slowly. I can hardly tell he’s doing it before I’m being kissed by Harry Potter, and I’m kissing him back with a hunger born of urgent desire.  
  
“Draco.” He says my name again, into my mouth, and I swallow it. Our hands reach for each other, he grips my fingers like I’m the only thing keeping him up.  
  
Fuck it all. I’ll worry about my heart later. Right now it’s my body that demands attention. I sneak my arms around his waist, I caress his hipbone, the jut of it fits into my hand just like I’ve imagined more times than I care to admit. Growling, I reach for his arse, only to be reminded that he’s got way too much clothes on.  
  
Reluctantly I let go of his mouth, but something really needs to be done about this. “Didn’t you have a thing for being down here in the nude, Potter?”  
  
His smile brushes against mine, and he nods. “You were so beautiful that night. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”  
  
“I should hope not.” I lean in again to kiss his eyebrows, his earlobe, I plant soft kisses in an intricate pattern down his neck. “You don’t have to imagine now, you know. I’m right here, in the flesh.”  
  
Potter exhales. “Yes.” But he makes no move to remove his swimming trunks, or encourage me to step out of mine. He’s always so confident when we spend time together, playful and even flirtatious. Now it’s like he’s holding back.  
  
“Everything okay, Potter?”  
  
He relaxes a little, stroking my forearm with a firm touch. “Yeah. Of course it is. I’m being stupid. It’s just that I... Well, I haven’t exactly done this before.”  
  
“You mean with another boy?”  
  
“I mean with anyone.”  
  
Oh.  
  
It seems I’ve found an activity at last where I’m more accomplished than Potter. A thrill runs through me, it’s my turn this time to lean forward and whisper soft words.  
  
“Would you like me to show you, Potter?”  
  
“Yes.” His breath speeds up against my neck, and he shivers.  
  
“Would you like me to undress you? Would you like to stand here right in front of me, completely naked? To have my eyes gliding over every inch of your skin before I slowly, oh so very slowly, explore your body with my touch?”  
  
“Malfoy,” he whimpers, “please.”  
  
He closes his eyes, and fuck, he’s beautiful. Next time, I want to do this when it’s light, when every detail of him is mine to take in. Merlin, I can’t believe I’m thinking about a next time before we’ve even started. But I already know I’ll be wanting him again.  
  
I stroke him across his back, his skin is like velvet. It’s a silly image, I know, but I don’t care.  
  
“Time to get these off of you, wouldn’t you say?” I pull at the hem of his swimming trunks as I nibble his earlobe. God, I want to _devour_ him. Once his trunks are lying on the ground, I take a small step back. I’ve dreamt about this too many times not to have a good look at him, or at least as good as the darkness of the night allows me.  
  
He’s gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Smooth and lithe and strong. His cock isn’t the biggest one I’ve seen, but it’s definitely on the larger side of the scale, and it’s bloody perfect.  
  
“There are so many things I could show you.” I step out of my own trunks and Potter opens his eyes again. His gaze is burning as he looks at me, all of me. I never knew how powerful being looked at like this could make me feel.  
  
“I could show you what it feels like to be kissed all over your body, what it can do to you to feel my tongue against your every hidden nook and edge.” Potter bites his lip and reaches for me. I grab his arse, and I squeeze. “I could kiss you everywhere until I’ve found all those places where you’re extra sensitive. I could use my tongue on you, and my teeth, oh, I love teeth, until you’re a trembling mess underneath me.”  
  
“Oh, God.”  
  
“Or I could suck you, Potter, would you like that? Would you like the feel of my hands caressing your balls as I lean closer and closer, until my soft lips brush your hardness and my breath tickles your skin?” Who knew that _talking_ could be this arousing? I touch his hips, he lets out a soft moan, and I really have to concentrate on holding back. I want this to last.  
  
“Do you know what it feels like when someone’s kissing the head of your cock, licking it, teasing it before taking it all in? Swallowing it? What it feels like to be surrounded by tight, wet heat that’s sucking you in? Goodness, Potter. I want to show you.”  
  
“Malfoy.” He jerks against me, and sweet Merlin, whatever I’ve done to find myself with a needy and utterly compelling Harry Potter in my arms, I’ll be sure to keep doing it. “Malfoy, yes. I want you to show me.”  
  
_God, yes. I’d be happy to, Potter, so happy, you have no idea._  
  
I sink down onto my knees. The ground is warm and welcoming, maybe he’s cast another Warming Charm without me noticing. I continue to explore his hips, his arse, the small of his back as I lean towards him and breathe him in. His scent is vague, muted. He smells like skin, obviously, but the specific scent that’s just his is faint after being in the lake. I love the scent of a man, and I’m aching to discover his.  
  
That’s for later.  
  
“The view from here is really something,” I say into his thigh. “Do you know how you look from this angle? Do you know how this position makes me see _all of you_ in a whole new perspective? You look delicious, Potter, sinful, like temptation itself, and I want to taste every inch of you.”  
  
He moans. The sound of it vibrates through me, he grabs my hair and holds tight. I’m not able to wait any longer. I lick his cock with one long, teasing movement, from base to head, swirling my tongue around as I caress his lower back. He pulls at my hair, not hard enough to make it hurt, but enough to tell me he’s losing control. “Draco,” he says, quietly. “Draco. I never knew.”  
  
Oh, God. Potter may be falling apart beneath my hands, but when he says my name like that, I’m all his.  
  
I suck him into my mouth inch by slow inch, taking my time, letting him endure the sweet ache of _almost_. He whimpers and pushes forwards. Uh-uh, not quite yet, Potter, I’m still in charge here. I hold him back by his hips and continue my unhurried exploration until I take pity on us both.  
  
Holy shit. I’m kneeling in front of Harry Potter as he lets go and gives himself to pleasure. I have him in my mouth as he starts thrusting, long, slow thrusts that does nothing to hide his eagerness. It’s an experience like none other, and fuck it all, I want him so badly I’m about to burst.  
  
“God,” he says, he’s speeding up now, “Draco, Draco –” why does he keep saying that? Does he know what he’s doing to me? “Draco, I’m coming, oh God, I can’t, I must, you need to...” I suck him in as far as I’m able to, holding onto his arse in case he gets any ideas about pulling out. It might be hard to breathe, but it’s nothing compared to feeling him come down my throat. He sobs, loudly, and keeps coming. I can’t get enough of him. It’s never enough.  
  
“Bloody hell.” He’s warm and pliant in my arms. I hurry to my feet and pull him even closer. Immediately, he leans in.  
  
“You’re gorgeous,” I whisper into his neck. “You should’ve seen yourself. You have no idea how hard it was to decide what to do for a moment there. Oh, I wanted you to come in my mouth, I wanted to taste you and touch you when you lost it.”  
  
A shiver runs through him as I speak. I have a strong feeling that it won’t take him long to be ready for more.  
  
“But you see, Potter, on the other hand, I had a rather desperate urge for us to lie down onto the ground and, well, to put it bluntly, fuck.”  
  
The sound he lets out is... I don’t know. It’s something between a laugh and a whimper, but whatever it is, it’s got a clear path to my cock. As if I need any further encouragement to that particular part of me.  
  
“I want that, Potter. I want to feel you beneath me, or above me, I’m not picky, as long as every part of your body is pressed against mine. Would you like that, hmm?” My legs are barely holding me up any more. Potter is arching against me, and whatever I was about to say next is completely lost in the fog of my mind.  
  
We lie down most ungracefully, in a jumble of arms and legs and burning need. Potter’s open-mouthed kisses cover me. Goodness, he might be a virgin, but he sure as hell can kiss. For minutes we lay like this, kissing like we’d dissolve without it. He’s on the ground, arching up against me as I move my hand down his side, his hip, his thigh. I lift myself up just enough to sneak my fingers against his increasingly swollen cock, driving a high-pitched sound from Potter. “Yes,” he says, writhing slightly beneath me. “Yesss.”  
  
Emboldened, I continue my exploration down further, gently pressing against his tight ring of muscle. Potter stills, and for a second I wonder if it’s too much. But then, he whispers against me, “Yes, Draco, anything.” Dear Merlin, he’s going to be the ruin of me.  
  
I really don’t want to get up to find my wand. It means having to leave this warm, ridiculously tempting body for even a few seconds, which is way too long. Besides, I much prefer store-bought lube to the conjured stuff, but as I lie down halfway on top of him again, I honestly couldn’t care less.  
  
“I’ll make this so good for you,” I tell him. “I’m going to show you just how good a man’s cock can feel inside you. No, I’m going to show you how good _my_ cock feels inside you.” The thought that he’s never done this before, that I’m the only one who’s touched him like this, is more thrilling that I could’ve imagined. He’s giving himself to _me_. Who’d have thought?  
  
I take my time opening him up with slicked fingers, getting him ready for what we both ache for. I want to remember every second of this. The way he looks lying on his back with his thighs spread. Every movement he makes and every sound that comes out of his mouth. I never want to forget.  
  
“Ready?” He nods. I lean down to kiss him as I slowly push inside. He clenches around me, fuckfuckfuck, this is too much. I want him with a force that frightens me. Buried deep inside him, I kiss him again. God, that sinful mouth of his. Erratic heartbeat is pounding in my ears, telling me to just get on with it. There’s nothing I want more. But I need to let him adjust. I lie as still as I can while desire burns its way through my body.  
  
“You can move now,” he says. I open my eyes, I had no idea I’d closed them. His eyes are so near mine, so honest, so intense. And I know that I can’t. If I move now, it will destroy me. If I move now, it will undo me. It’ll drive me over the edge within three seconds, and I’m not even certain what edge I mean.  
  
I move anyway, and I’m right. It does destroy me, in the best way imaginable. I’m drowning, and this time he can’t save me. I’m coming inside of him in a chaos of moans and bites and scratching nails, falling deeper with every thrust.  
  
“Harry.” He tucks an errant lock of hair behind my ear, shifting to meet my lips. I open up to him. “Harry.” I say it into his mouth, blinking against the threatening wetness in my eyes, and I keep falling.  
  
: : :  
  
The night is at its darkest. Potter’s conjured a blanket to cover us, it’s warm and perfect, much like Potter himself. I’m lying on his shoulder and I don’t ever want to move.  
  
“I’d like to keep seeing you,” he says, stroking through my hair, kissing my sleepy head.  
  
“Why?” What a god-awful way to reply, but it’s the first thing that pops into my mind. And it is, as far as I can tell, a most legitimate question.  
  
“Why wouldn’t I?  
  
“You don’t have to keep rescuing me, you know.”  
  
Potter is still for a moment. “Is that how you see it? That you’re the one who needs rescuing and I’m the one who rescues people?”  
  
I roll my eyes at him, not that he’s able to see it in our position, but still. “You came out of the war as everyone’s hero. I was hardly allowed back at Hogwarts. You’re the favourite of students and teachers alike. I’m lucky if they ignore me. Although McGonagall has been very decent, I admit. And then, to top it all, I almost drown. You pull me out of the lake. So yes, I do see it that way. What other ways are there to see it?”  
  
He shifts over to his side, letting his head rest against his hand and looks down at me. “I’m not their hero, you know, not really, and I don’t want to be. If they do see a hero, they see someone who isn’t me. They see someone who doesn’t exist. People are always expecting things from me. They think they know me, know what I want, what I need. I look at you this year, and you seem to say ‘So what?’ and don’t care what people think. Maybe not in the healthiest way, I admit, but I’m learning so much from you and how you're doing things your way now. With the swimming and everything. You make me want to say ‘Fuck it’ to the expectations they are lining up. You give me courage to do the things that make _me_ happy. And being with you makes me happy.”  
  
“So you help me care more, and I help you care less?”  
  
“Hah. I suppose you could say that. And besides, I haven’t saved you this time around. You’ve been doing that just fine on your own. I didn’t do it. Maybe we can help each other save ourselves. The two of us might still become a great team, you know.”  
  
I want that. Merlin, I want that.  
  
If only I could believe it.  
  
: : :  
  
“What’s up with you these days?” It’s Pansy, of course, sliding down onto the seat beside me at dinner. “If you were anyone else I’d say you were, I don’t know, _glowing_.” She leans closer, casually placing her hand over mine. “Whatever it is, it better not have anything to do with Potter.”  
  
Sometimes Pansy is just a little bit too perceptive.  
  
“Why would you say that?”  
  
Pansy yawns lightly and looks more interested in the shepherd’s pie on her plate than whatever she’s about to say to me, oh, that’s never a good sign. It’s infinitely more dangerous than her sharp-edged voice.  
  
“I’m not blind, you know.” Finally, she looks up at me. “You know I want you to be happy, Draco. Always have, always will. But please, _please_ tell me you don’t think Potter is the solution here. Maybe he’s having some fun, maybe he finds you interesting for a while. But Draco dearest, he’ll always be who he is, and you... will always be you. It won’t work. If you’re looking for any blessing from me, I’ll have to disappoint you. I care for you too much to see you risking your heart like this.”  
  
She gives me one of her small smiles, the ones that are earnest and full of devotion to her chosen few. “You’ll always have me in your corner. You know that. But I’m not so sure I’ll ever be able to say the same about Potter.”  
  
: : :  
  
We meet by the lake again. I still need help with my swimming, and besides, this is our place. Our safe place to meet, to fuck, to be alone. Our place to fall deeper.  
  
“Where do you see us going, Potter?” It’s a cold, clear night. No moon, but lying close together on our backs we can see the endless starlit sky above us. The question is out before I can swallow it. I’m not certain I want to know the answer.  
  
“You and me?”  
  
“Yes – I mean, what do you think is going to happen? Our friends hate each other. How long would you be okay with seeing someone your friends will think is the worst choice you could possibly make?”  
  
Potter sighs. “It doesn’t always have to be like that, does it? People change. Soon we'll be out of school. Maybe we can all, well, not start over, exactly, but... I don’t know.”  
  
“So, once we’re out of school we’ll be all mature and ready to move forward? Gryffindors and Slytherins will forget about years of animosity and dislike, all of a sudden starting to meet at the pub for a friendly pint, just because you and I are seeing each other? We’re going to be one, big happy family, sharing amusing stories and whatnot? I’m sorry, Potter. I don’t see it happening.”  
  
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. If our friends can’t find some common middle ground, at least there’s a chance we can move past these artificial borders we’re so used to. That we can tolerate each other. And, you know, for what it’s worth, I want you regardless of what they might think.”  
  
I shake my head at this exasperating, wonderful human being. How can he still be so trusting after everything he’s seen?  
  
“Maybe,” he says as he starts tickling my belly, “if we can’t think of anything else to persuade them, we could all go skinny dipping together in the moonlight. That ought to give them a change of focus. I have it on good authority it’s a great cure for a lot of things.”  
  
I lean my head back and laugh. I laugh out loud, with my stomach and shaking shoulders and everything that goes with it. It feels wonderful. This is what being with Potter is like. I don’t ever want to let it go.  
  
: : :  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
I shake my head. Not at all. “It’s a bit sudden, isn’t it? Wouldn’t it be better to sort of ease them into it?”  
  
We’ve had this discussion a million times before, and the conclusion is always the same.  
  
“I’m tired of sneaking around. We’re not doing anything wrong. If they’re more attached to old grudges than seeing people for who we are now, it’s they who should be ashamed, not us. Besides, jumping into deep waters is the only way I know how to do things. It seems to be working pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”  
  
I can’t very well argue with that. I might be scared, but it’s a hell of a lot better than feeling nothing. We can do this.  
  
“How do you even know they’re in there?” I’ve hardly been inside the new eighth year common room. Potter hasn’t used it much either. Somehow, though, he seems very certain that the room is currently full of people, Granger and Weasley, and more surprisingly Pansy and Blaise, among them.  
  
He laughs. The sound of it never ceases to intoxicate me. “I have my ways of knowing these things. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you some other time. But I can say as much as I’ve discovered a lot of people in interesting places that way.” He knows how to pique my curiosity, but I decide to let it go for now. It’s for another time. After all, we’ve got plenty of it.  
  
“I’ll hold you to that, Potter. I’ve always loved a good story.”  
  
Our hands meet and we give each other one, small kiss, a quick peck brimmed with emotion. Then we straighten our backs and step forward.  
  
It’s going to be fine.

**Author's Note:**

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